


New York Limit

by sailtheplains



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Gen, Genderbend, Jane Austen Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sophie Genevieve Rogers, fem flip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane rolled her eyes. “Fifteen May, I’ll be sailing out across the Atlantic to show them English girls that New York’s ladies ain’t to be so easily dismissed.”</p><p>Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. You’ll be exchanging nylons with them in minutes.”</p><p>“I’ve got to save face, Soph!” Jane declared. “Don’t tell me things like that!”</p><p>“What if one has a handsome brother on leave?”</p><p>“Then maybe I will reconsider. But only for the sake of our shared heritage.”</p><p>Sophie burst out laughing. “You’re shameless.”</p><p>---------------------------------------------------</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York Limit

Sophie Genevieve Rogers hit the alley wall hard. Her thin legs shook and she fell to her knees. Her flat fingernails dug into the damp brickwork and pushed herself back up. “You leave them alone,” she commanded.

The man was a mick and drunk as a skunk. He pointed at her. “Go home, you little slut.” And then he wheeled back around. The two children hiding by the dumpster pressed in closer to each other. The girl looked to be about nine, the boy about seven.

Sophie bounded forward, slamming into his back. He staggered, fell against the alley wall and got up. “You done it now, girlie. Done it now. I’ll beat you bloody.”

Sophie curled her hand around a stone. She sidestepped his first swing. “Go!” she commanded.

The children hesitated and then ran.

The man grabbed her by the hair. “Look whachu gonna make me do!” He struck her, a hard, swift backhand across her thin face.

She swung the rock in her fist like a club—he grabbed her arm and struck her again. She fell into the heap of trash bags. Her fingers curled around a glass bottle. She staggered up, already wheezing and swung. It hit his arm, but didn’t break.

“You just askin for it, aincha.” He threw her against the wall.

She grabbed up the lid of the garbage bin. “Big man, aincha,” she croaked. “Scarin a couple kids. Tryin to take their pocket money. For what—buyin more booze? Just makin us look bad?”

His punch knocked the lid right out of her hands. “Your daddy shoulda beat you more.”

She braced against the wall.

And then the drunk went flying into the garbage. He rolled over. “You goddamn—“

“Shut yer damn yap,” Jane Austen Barnes commanded. She straddled the man’s chest and smashed the discarded bottle into his forehead. She sniffed at his unconscious form and got off. “What are you doin?”

Sophie wiped her nose. “He was…drunk. Tryin to take the Millers—“

“Yeah, I had two of the little snipes come runnin, sayin you was about to get the stuffing beat outta you.” Jane reached down and grabbed Sophie’s arm, pulling her up. “You’re a mess, sis.” She took out her kerchief and wiped Sophie’s nose. “Why didn’t you get someone, Evie?”

“There wasn’t time. He was going to hurt them.”

Jane huffed, stepping a red heel right onto the man’s gut and using it to walk over him. “Guess there ain’t no such thing as chivalry.”

“Not all men are like him,” Sophie said softly.

Jane looked back at her. “You sad thing. What will you do when I ain’t around some time?”

“Get beat up. Ain’t that unusual. Folks act like striking a woman is bad—but they do it anyway. Just no one talks about it. Amy Powers gets beat up by her husband often enough. No one helps her.”

“She married an Italian.”

“Ain’t no excuse,” Sophie told her.

Jane put an arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, lovely. Let’s get you back. I got some whiskey we can put on them cuts.”

“You going out tonight?”

“Eh, sure. Later though. Right now I got something to do.”

Sophie looked up at Jane. Jane smiled at her. “You shouldn’t make your dates wait.”

“I ain’t makin him wait—he’ll get repaid for his time. I promise.”

Sophie rolled her eyes as they ascended the rickety stairs to the flat they shared. “You dressed pretty fast for this date. I don’t think I ever saw you break out the red heels, the red skirt _and_ the red lipstick just for one date.”

“He’s handsome. And he has a car, sugarbee. And with all the men leaving for the war—well, work smarter, not harder. They’re about to go to London. You know them English girls have those accents they like so much. Giggling and simpering and save the King or whatever.”

“They can afford to be picky, I guess.”

Jane looked back at her as she opened up her little leather purse and took out their key. “Sophie Ginny.”

“Don’t call me Ginny.”

“Sophie. You just ain’t met the right fella.” She opened the door and pulled out a long match to light a few candles.

“Likely not to.”

“Now, see here, doll,” Jane said, in that no-nonsense tone of hers that became unconsciously sisterly. “You are lovely just as you are. That these boys don’t see it don’t mean nothing about you. You are sweet and kind, stupidly brave when you shouldn’t be—shy as a mouse the rest of the time. Let me make you up some time—show a little of that boldness.”

“No, no, Janie—I couldn’t dress like you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the tits for your dresses.”

Janie laughed, pulling down the bottle of whiskey and pouring a tiny pinch into a cup. “We’ll get you a blouse—and a pretty blue skirt. Maybe one of them flapper dresses. They look good on your type of frame.”

“I’d rather have a uniform.”

Jane went silent, standing by the countertop with the glass of whiskey.

Sophie stood by one of the candles. The shadows made her look even thinner, more gaunt. “I’m sorry,” she said, after a moment. “I just—“

“I know,” said Jane. “When your mother died from TB—they will never let you be a nurse now. Stick to art. You’re good at that. Draw up signs or pamphlets for the war.”

Sophie looked out the window. Her blond hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. It was gathered into a loose braid at the nape of her neck. Her skin was thin, pale. Her eyes seemed too big for her face. “One day they’ll let women join the Service. Let us show we can fight as well as the men.”

“Well, that day ain’t today. And even if it were, sugarcube, they wouldn’t let you join anyway.”

Sophie looked down at the table.

“Come here now. Let me fix you up.” She sighed. “I hate being so brutally honest with you—but every time you walk in to apply for the Nursing Core, I get this terrible feeling that one day someone is going to slip up and let you in.”

Sophie blew a raspberry but came forward. She sat down at the table and Jane turned her head this way and that, tsking and tutting, _that damn brute_ and _I shoulda stayed and put the shards in his throat_ and _What you need is a gentleman. Someone with real class. Learning. Knows how to treat a lady._

Sophie didn’t flinch when the whiskey was applied. “Where’s your date tonight?”

“Waiting down at Hammond’s. He’s gonna have a soda and when I appear, fashionably late, we’ll go to a movie—maybe end up necking afterwards.”

Sophie slapped her red-skirted knee lightly.

Jane grinned. “I’ll give you all the details tomorrow.”

“I just get nervous sometimes—that those fellas will get the wrong idea about you. They’ll think you’re fast. Think they can do something to you.”

Jane snorted. “Please, dear—I don’t go anywhere with just any young man. And I certainly don’t go without protection.”

Sophie rolled her eyes.

“Not _that_ kind! I mean a knife. We live in Brooklyn. Every girl should know how to protect herself.”

“Police just blame you if he hits you anyway,” Sophie grumbled.

“Well, that’s not right either. But I won’t let a man put an untoward hand on me whether he thinks it’s his world or not.”

“Still…”

“I’ll let you draw his picture and you can assassinate him if he does. All right?”

Sophie made a face at her.

Jane smiled and patted her cheek. “Up we come. Come on. I’ll be home later. Sure you don’t wanna come? I’m sure he wouldn’t complain.”

Sophie shoved her, laughing. “Get outta here.”

Jane beamed and adjusted her left red heel. She grabbed her purse. “See you later, sugarbee.”

 

Jane reappeared just a couple hours later, laughing and drunk. She and the date (William, Sophie remembered later) stayed at the door for a long time. Jane moaned softly.

“Wanna go again?” a rough, low voice asked, hand bracing on the door.

“My roommate is inside, Billy boy.”

“She cute?”

“Oh, that’s the limit,” Jane laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder. “You owe me dinner if that’s what you want.”

William stepped back, grinning and adjusting his cap. His collar had a red lipstick smear on it. “Maybe we should double-date sometime.”

“Sure, G-man, you gotta brother?”

“Gotta friend—another sergeant. Your roommate’s the Rogers girl, right? Real tiny, petite little thing?”

“Like a blond little angel.”

“Yeah, maybe we can then. Then we can all come back here.”

Jane laughed. “We’ll see, G-man.” She winked and opened the door to slip inside. She stretched, lithe as a cat and sauntered into the room she shared with Sophie.

The little thing was curled up like she always was, on her side and tucked up against the wall. Always as if she’d need to wake up and protect herself. Jane frowned and looked away. She tried for a moment to imagine one of William’s soldier friends—some big lad—try to dance with Sophie or worse, try to get quick with her…and she just got this sour feeling in her stomach. Maybe a date—maybe. But no dancing. No movie theaters either. Sophie would never forgive her.

She was a stubborn little thing.

“You smell like cigarettes,” Sophie mumbled.

“Sorry, sugarbee, did I wake you?”

“Stop callin me _sugarbee_. I ain’t five.”

“How about _Ginny_?”

“Fuck you, Janie Barnes.”

Jane laughed, toeing off her red heels and reaching around to unhitch her skirt.

“How’d it go with William?” Sophie asked, sitting up.

“He wanted to go again when we got here.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose.

“I told him no. Because you’re here.”

“So sorry to interrupt.”

“He wants to double-date. Says he has a friend.”

Sophie looked suspicious. “Jane—“

“I said I’d think about it. Just consider it, Sophie. They don’t leave for London for two weeks.”

Sophie scowled. “I don’t like these pity dates. Just cause I’m a girl doesn’t mean I need pity dates. Fellas don’t like me—why are we still pretending that they do?”

“I have got to stop telling you about these things. I’m just going to show up and have you with me and then you’ll have no choice but to be polite.”

“You’re a jerk.”

Jane winked, taking off her blouse and pulling on her nightdress. “Well, if I don’t get you outside, who will?”

“Yeah, like I want some fella to be stuck with me all night.”

“No, none of that melancholy, Sophie. Now, you stop that. William was perfectly nice. And his friend will be too or I’ll give them what for.”

“I don’t need your damn pity dates,” Sophie said hotly, alert now and scowling at her. “There’s more to life than dancing and drinks and men and women doing things.”

Jane shook her hair out and reached under her nightdress to pull her nylons off. “Of course there is. But you’re only sayin that cause you’ve never tried it. There’s more to life than drawin, singing, the Service—life can mean anything to anyone anywhere. There’s no set meaning for life, Sophie.” She opened up the window and sat on the sill. One bare foot touched the concrete ledge outside, the other braced on the floor. “You limit yourself. Keep thinkin you got something to prove.”

“My mother was a nurse. I should be out there. I should be allowed to try, at least.”

Jane shook her head. Her red lipstick seemed bright in the moonlight. “Your mother wasn’t a combat nurse. And your father was an alcoholic. I get it—I do,” Jane said, looking across the dim room at her. “It’s hard. And you wanna bounce back and take on everything. Cause your pop did what he could—but he couldn’t take what he’d been through. Mustard Gas and the bottle killed him. Your mama was a great lady. You know I loved her like a real mother. What if you end up in some deadpit over in Germany. You get pneumonia every year. Who’s gonna help you? They’ll have to take care of you. And Christ forbid when I die, I’ll have to face your mother asking me why the hell I let you go.”

Sophie looked down at her blanket. “It still feels wrong…when I know I could…do something.”

“You could go out there and die. You barely make it _here_ , let alone some outpost in the middle of nowhere.” Jane got up and pulled her blanket back. “Let it go, Rog.” She laid down, turned her back to the room.

She heard Sophie make a soft sound, knew she was probably crying—frustrated, angry—compacting all that self-loathing into tears. But Sophie kept silent after that and laid down. Both of them were awake for a long time. Neither of them spoke.

 

A month later, Jane walked in to their flat. She laid her key on the table. Her eyes were far away.

“Hey,” Sophie greeted and glanced up. She did a double-take. “Jane? You okay?”

Jane swallowed hard, tracing the grain of the wood. She outlined the key with her finger. “I…” her mouth closed. She glanced at Sophie and then down. “I joined the Nursing Core.”

Sophie almost upset her cup of pencils. “ _What?!_ ”

“I…” she looked down again. “I sang last night at the club—little extra money for it—but I sang for some of the boys who were shipping out. Bad things are happening, Sophie…it’s bad over there…”

Sophie stood up. “Jane…wh-when do you—I mean, when do you leave for Basic?”

“Two weeks. Head out for physical training, then the nursing training. I don’t have a medical background—but they take girls to teach. So they’ll teach me and I’ll help protect the men. They’re desperate for help, I guess.”

Sophie’s eyes flickered, sharpening. “Really?”

Jane looked up. “Now, stop it, you. No. I’m listing you as my dependent.”

“What—!”

“No, just shut up for a minute. I’ll make a real wage there. I can send it back to help you pay rent.”

“Jane--!”

“Look, no—Sophie, this is happening. It _will_ happen. I’ll be back in a few months before I leave for London.”

“I’ll go to Phillie—and try to apply there.”

Jane sighed. “It won’t matter what I say—“

“You said they were desperate!”

“Not _that_ desperate!”

But Jane was right, it didn’t matter. The next day, Sophie took a train to Philadelphia, where she was promptly denied. She took the train to New Jersey before swinging back to New York. Needless to say, she was denied there as well.

Two nights before Jane was due to leave, Sophie returned.

“You slept behind a dumpster, didn’t you?” Jane asked, pulling her inside. “You dope.”

“Do I smell like it?”

“Yes. What if something had happened to you? You coulda been killed and I woulda never known it.”

“Jane….I…I’m sorry.”

Jane shook her head. “Don’t, silly. You’ll have an asthma attack.” She embraced the small woman, rubbing warm, soothing circles into her crooked spine. “Just be careful. I won’t be around to make sure you don’t get an arm broken. You pick fights like a devil.”

She saw Jane off at the docks. For four lonesome months, she stayed by herself in the flat. She drew and sketched, sold her pictures when she could. She took work at a local garment factory to make ends meet. She was quickly relegated to only working with small machines—she couldn’t lift the bolts of fabric. She couldn’t manage the large looms. Her hands shook when she sewed.

_People are gonna tell you your whole life that you can’t do anything. But you got a fire in you, Gin. You were named after me and your grandmother—Genevieve in the Old Country. She had fire in her too. Before he left us, your father used to say I had fire in me. But now it’s passed to you. One day you’ll pass it to your own daughters. Don’t let anyone sell you pre-packaged rejection. Don’t let them tell you what you can’t do. Heart of lion—you got. And yeah, your body is weak—but your heart is big. You’re my tough girl. And a strong heart doesn’t give up. Little Gin—you gotta save yourself. No one is going to protect you. No one is going to save you. You gotta be your own champion. You understand me? Not all men are good men—and you’re never gonna know which he is at first. Some men will beat you. You take your own back, Gin…but you stay a good girl. Stay my good girl._

She returned home, exhausted, wheezing already. She stopped outside the door, holding her chest with one hand, inserting the key with the other and turned the lock.

Jane stood in the middle of the kitchen. “I shoulda known. C’mere, goose!”

“Jane!” Wheeze forgotten, Sophie threw the door open and ran to embrace her. “How are you? How was training? You look amazing! Look at that uniform!”

“Not bad, eh? Have a sit, Sophia—dinner’s cooking. Where you been, girl?”

“Job at the garment factory.”

“You must be joking me. How long have you been there?”

“A few weeks.”

“Must only been. You quit tomorrow. Those sixteen hour days will kill you.”

Sophie huffed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted. Now sit. How did you get through the winter?”

Sophie sat, looking aside. “I…saved up. With your money—I paid three months’ rent in advance.”

“You got sick?”

“Eh, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Well, I get a month here to keep you in line and then I leave for London. Fifteen May, I’ll be sailing out across the Atlantic to show them English girls that New York’s ladies ain’t to be so easily dismissed.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. You’ll be exchanging nylons with them in minutes.”

“I’ve got to save face, Soph!” Jane declared. “Don’t tell me things like that!”

“What if one has a handsome brother on leave?”

“Then maybe I will reconsider. But only for the sake of our shared heritage.”

Sophie burst out laughing. “You’re shameless.”

“I’m not. Boys are encouraged at every turn to find as many girls as they can to sample from. I’m doing the same thing. Sampling from the British population would be an act of honor on my part. Doing it for America—to ensure I’m not missing anything and that our lads here are up to snuff.”

Sophie giggled until she cried and didn’t even look reproachful afterwards. That was how Jane knew how much Sophie had missed her.

 

The next month passed too fast and Sophie found herself at the Stark Expo with Jane and her flavor of the week and Flavor’s friend. The friend was polite but clearly uninterested.

And that was how Sophie ended up at the recruiting center again.

“Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, sugarbee,” Jane said, hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

Sophie looked back at her. Jane was so pretty. So beautiful that Sophie could hardly stand it. She struggled not to be jealous of her best friend—but some part of her couldn’t help it. Since puberty, viewing Jane with a blend of despair and envy. Jane was so healthy, strong, bright like a torch. And now her best friend was leaving for London—and then after that—who knew where. To help in the war. The War. The War of their generation.

She looked back into the center.

“Sophie…” Jane said softly.

“Last time. I promise.”

“Liar.” Jane came forward to hug her.

“Don’t get killed over there. I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“You’re takin all that stupid with you.”

Jane smiled and ruffled her hair. “I left my make-up in our—your room. No, don’t you grimace. Make up is a woman’s armor. No one can hurt you when you put it on.”

“Cause it’ll smear if you turn on the waterworks,” Sophie huffed at her.

“Exactly.”

“Oh yeah, what if I get hit?”

“You gonna let some broad mess up your armor! You better take her out before she gets to hitting your face!” Jane smiled gently and then turned away, letting both men take an arm a piece.

 

The only reason they took her—was because of Erskine. Whoever he selected, that was who was sent. It was mostly men but here and there, a woman was there too. Sophie was one of five. The other four had come from the Nursing Core recruits. The other forty were men.

She was shocked to see a _woman_ in charge of their training. This Agent Carter, a Brit—like hell on wheels. She took no sass from the men. The groups had to train separately—of course—as regulation stated. But they had briefings together, testing was done together. And Carter found time for them all. She treated the women much the same as the men—if not a little harsher. “If one of you is selected, you will be judged by your gender first. You cannot get away from this. I expect you five to work harder than anyone else. As hard as you can.”

Sophie still found herself the smallest among the five women. She was quiet, painfully shy—but not a coward. She coiled her blond hair into a tight bun and pinned it. Her lungs ached, burned, probably bled. She ignored it. Her eyes swelled from the dust, her skin burned in the sun, everything hurt. She ignored it.

She failed every test. She couldn’t ignore that.

When one of the men tried to put a hand on Mindy Gardner late at night, Sophie sprang at him like a cat, clawing at his face. She balled up her fist—she’d seen Carter do it—punched that jerk in the nose twice before the other girls separated them and a sergeant came in to throw the scumbag out.

She had blood on her knuckles. She didn’t want to ignore that. She liked knowing how to properly throw a punch.

Carter seemed somehow approving of this incident. She did not say so out loud but Sophie found herself in the Lieutenant’s presence more often. In fact, Carter was there when a grenade went loose from the armory truck and Sophie didn't even think--just slid in over it. Was it only a test? It must have been. It didn't explode. Parts of her didn't go ripping across the field yard, splattering blood and guts. She sat up and looked around--but no one was laughing at her. 

Her selection came as a complete surprise to everyone. But no one more than herself.

 

The change was drastic. She’d been barely five foot tall, hardly eighty pounds soaking wet. After the machine, she was nine inches taller, a hundred pounds heavier. She had real muscle, real strength. She felt like an Amazon warrior. Her breasts hadn’t changed overly—a little bigger but nothing crazy. That was good. Jane had told her how much it hurt to run when one was well-endowed. Her eyesight was clear and crisp. Her hearing was amazing. Her sense of smell, touch and taste—it was all different. She was disoriented with her own body because, well, it wasn’t her body.

Even running after that bastard who killed Erskine—not even realizing until it was over that it felt _good_ to run. That nothing hurt. It didn’t feel like someone was punching her in the chest. Not a wheeze to be had.

It was Carter who came after her eventually and led her back to the base.

Erskine was gone and now she was his legacy.


End file.
